


For Life

by puppydeanandjen



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Fluff, Lazy Mornings, M/M, Snow, Snuggling, Somewhere between Seasons 8-9, drunk!Dean, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 00:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16882455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/puppydeanandjen/pseuds/puppydeanandjen
Summary: Being in love with your brother is something that comes easy to Sam and Dean and they wouldn’t have it any other way.





	For Life

**Author's Note:**

> (Or Domestic!Winchesters with a winter twist~) 
> 
> For the Holiday Mixtape!  
> Thank you so much to Ross for beta reading my fic!  
> Oh and also Thank you to TFWBT for part of the idea for this fic. Love you guys lots!

It’s incredibly easy to notice when Dean downs a little too many drinks for the night. The way that his shoulders seem loose, pliant skin molding to the pressure of Sam’s arm that hangs around the frame in attempts to keep Dean stable. There are more wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, grin brighter than the goddamn sun as a finger travels up to boop Sam’s nose. Girly giggles escape from whiskey smeared lips, a golden hue radiates from the lamp hanging precariously from the ceiling travels across the rosy, plump flesh. Then they’re coming in closer, his brother shifting over in his hold and Sam does nothing to stop him, only accommodate in whatever the fuck he’s doing.

And yeah, maybe Sam’s a little tipsy too.

“No making out in public, Dean,” Sam states as he gazes around at the bar, hoping that the surrounding unaware customers would continue to be unaware for a little while longer, but all those thoughts drown away when damp palms wrap around his nape, tickling the skin; his hands rest on his brother’s chest in attempts to push him away. His eyes begin counting the freckles that dust over Dean’s face like glitter across a milky canvas to keep him sane-he remembers it being a few hundred, but now he can’t seem to recall the exact number despite this being his seventieth time doing so.

“But, honey,” he pouts, tilting his head ever so slightly as brilliant, emerald irises dip into the gold illuminated above, and it’s completely unfair how Sam’s heart swirls. How his arms go lax in Dean’s presence. How he allows his brother to lazily hook his arms around Sam’s neck and how he doesn’t stop their lips from colliding with each other.

At least, he has enough sense to wake up when Dean’s tongue pleads for entrance. Sam’s hands gingerly push Dean away; then the hands are moving, one slowly dipping down to the hip while the other drags one of his brother’s hands over Sam’s shoulder. “Okay, we’re going home,” Sam says, but he doesn’t think that Dean’s even aware of it: half-lidded eyes and loose limbs and all. Totally wasted.

Immediately upon exiting the bar, Sam notices droplets of shimmering white fluttering down to the ground as a chilly breeze sways them as if they were dancing on the ridges of the dark night sky. Their last performance before touching the concrete and melting into the liquid that creates them.

“It’s snowing,” Dean chuckles, still reeking of alcohol, giddy like a child who's just experienced their first winter. In that expression, Sam sees himself from the past that was still wide-eyed and innocent; recalling the uncontrollable, mirthful laughter falling from his lips as the snow touched his face-freezing cold against warm skin, but the sheer ecstasy he feels makes up for it. Remembers Dean’s small smile under the fluorescent lights strapped to the motel walls when Sam glanced back, calling out to his big brother to join him.

Now, San understands it-watching Dean’s flushed face with glassy irises that hold more naive wonder than ever as they continue to walk the steps of adulthood-what his brother was feeling on that day: adoration.

After much stumbling and heaving, the two of them finally arrive at the car. Sam’s hand slips into Dean’s jacket pocket, retrieving the Impala keys, and he carefully sets his brother down onto the front seat before hopping into the other side.

Dean’s pretty docile on the ride back to the bunker, leaning against the window as he blinks slowly over weary eyes, but the incoming lights of the streetlamps prevent him to do so. Cute.

Once they arrive, Sam hustles Dean out the car in a flurry of limbs that ends up with Dean’s arms around his neck and feet dragging across the dirt outside and the floor of their hallway. They’re lucky that nobody else lives with them in the bunker or they’d be questioning whatever this mess was.

It doesn’t take them long to get to their room-they’ve moved in together a while ago as the hasty confession during what seemed to be in dying moments and a stolen kiss sealed their fate. He flicks the dim ceiling lamp on to shine upon the messy room when they enter. Sam’s books lie upon a desk while Dean’s weapons are scattered across the ground joined with the empty pizza boxes they’d devoured earlier on the bed as they watched cheesy Christmas movies on the laptop. Sure, they had the man cave, but this way they had an excuse to snuggle in a little closer than normal: fingers brushing up against each other for another slice, toes kicking playfully, shoulder accidentally bumping into each other.

Neither of them would say that out loud, of course, because that’s just not who they are.

Plopping his brother down on their bed with a huff because, even though he’s got ten pounds on Dean, he’s getting old which means that everything hurts in the most annoying way possible, Sam shifts over to move to the kitchen for some water.

Well, _was,_ as the tug on the hem of his shirt forces him to turn to meet Dean who’s now sitting up with his legs crisscrossed on the bed like a kid yearning for their mommy not to leave them.

“S-Stay,” his big brother begs-body staggering forward and back, about to teeter off the edge of the mattress-word choked and quiet under the deafening silence. “Don’t leave me again.”

Tears stain Dean’s eyes just like that time at the bus stop when Sam had uttered his temporary goodbye, foregoing a life that he’d soon learn would never truly fit in the way he’d fit with Dean. It’s vulnerability in the purest form that his brother usually hides under mountains of snow and now it’s whisked away by a gust of alcohol.

Damn, Dean really must have drunk way too much.

Sam had been counting how many shots his brother had taken that night. Must have slipped one too many during the five-minute bathroom break. He should’ve been paying attention since Dean usually drinks more during the winter season as joy is frosted over in the chill.

It’s around the time when Dean started this descent into alcoholism.

Coming home that one stormy night, doused in the putrid stench that Sam knows all to well from their father. But he said nothing; handed Dean a cup of water instead, leaving some pills he swiped from the first aid kit by the bedside table. What else could he do?

“Yeah,” Sam says, voice soft as he bends closer, blindly grabbing at couple t-shirts on the ground before crawling onto the bed as he guides Dean with him. He strips both of them until they’re down to boxers, tugging the t-shirts-both end up being Sam’s-on him and his brother.“I won’t leave. I promise.”

Leading them further up the mattress and pushing the blankets down, he settles them into the covers again with Dean’s back towards him. Sam’s arms begin to wrap his big brother in the comforting heat that radiates from Sam’s body in order to sedate Dean’s insecurities, but then-

“No,” Dean rebukes with obvious grogginess in his voice, shifting over to meet Sam again. Green eyes twinkling brighter than the star on top of a Christmas tree. And if his eyes are the star then the freckles must be the ornaments or tinsel, stark against the pale skin which seems to shine in the soft limelight. Still as gorgeous as before. Sam wonders what younger him was thinking every time he glanced at his big brother and not swoon over him like the hormonal teenager he was. It seems so obvious now. “Imma be the big spoon, Sammy.”

“Okay, Dean,” Sam softly replies, rolling over to face the wall. He feels his brother press flush against him-strong arms that are built from years of hunting holding him with the need to protect and squishy flesh of the tummy soft from eating scrumptious pies across the country.

“G’nna keep my little brother warm,” Dean says, curling in closer until they can mold together as one being, even though, they already are. And they will be forever.

Sam falls asleep to the sound of Dean heartbeat and snores that sing in the vacant bunker.

\--

When he wakes up from his pleasant sleep, Sam immediately notices how hoarse his throat is. Rough and sore and uncomfortable. The faint lighting seems to have grown slightly around him, foggy vision swirling a bit before returning back to normal. His body is sticky and gross from yesterday's activities. Heat is still attached to his back with arms around his neck in a sort of chokehold and legs now wrapped around his waist. Dean’s sleeping, judging by the steady breathing; he doesn’t dare to turn to catch a glimpse of his brother’s sleepy face mushed against his hair, fearing that he might wake the slumbering beast.

Sam’s not quite sure how they got into this position, but he’s not complaining either.

Although, his parched throat desperately needs water right now and Dean’s locked so tight onto him that attempting to dislodge himself would be like trying to take a little girl’s giant unicorn away. And _that_ is impossible to do.

Instead, he slowly shuffles himself out of the sheets with his brother latched onto his back and trudges towards the kitchen. It’s not extremely hard-he thanks his regular workouts for that-, but it’s causing a little bit of a backache.

Kind of feels like they’re kids again with Sam piggyback riding Dean’s back when he’d twisted his ankle on a hunt that one time. He recalls how mighty his big brother seemed back then and now he’s that, but more.

The world becoming the universe.  

They make it in no time, grabbing a glass from one of the cabinets as he pulls the fridge door open for the water pitcher and placing both onto the counter. The filtration system in the kitchen is a bit wonky and Dean’s been trying to fix it every spare chance he’s got. “This our home, Sammy. It’s our job to take care of it,” his brother had told him after repairing the cars in the garage. The heater is working at least to the bare minimum, spreading a lukewarm heat throughout, yet still not enough to contradict the blasting winter occurring outside.

Oh yeah, it’s almost Christmas, isn’t it?

Jody had invited them to a party for the holiday, so it won’t pass without celebration like it once did when he was young. They need to buy some presents later. He pours the water, liquid sloshing in the cup as it fills his ears. Dean twitches behind him, but his heartbeat is still consistent and unwavering. Sam sips quietly, cool liquid refreshing against the dry cavern as the pain subsides.

“It’s cold,” Dean mumbles into the scruff of his neck, legs gripping tighter around the abdomen and snuggling in closer, attempting to burrow himself into the depths of his little brother for warmth. Sam smiles.

“You want coffee?” he asks, preparing it anyway because he knows that Dean will say yes. It’s what boots his brother up in the morning to a sleep deprived, almost highly functioning hunter until the caffeine finally settles in completely and makes him laser sharp focused. Dean's head rubs up and down on Sam’s neck in response.

He pours the dark roast into two mismatched mugs-one designed as a Captain America head while the other as a #1 World Greatest Mom with the Mom crossed out and replaced with Moose. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots two candy canes on the counter and decides to plop them in there to be festive.

“You can’t drink if you don’t get off my back,” Sam tells him-even though he’d rather not have this moment pass-, nudging his shoulder, and Dean whines in response. Walking them towards the tables with cups in hand, he slides the ceramics on the table. It’s then that his big brother decides to slip away, unwinding himself from Sam like a snake. He can hear the tips of toes touching the floor first as the rest of Dean’s feet come to join him.

Then he’s walking over and taking his seat at one of the tables, rubbing hazy eyes that still hold the remnants of sleep. Sam plops down onto the chair across and watches Dean take a sip from the Captain America mug.

“Okay,” Dean states, eyes meeting Sam’s as the drowsiness dissipates. “never put candy canes in coffee again.”


End file.
